


Shadow Chaser

by Uniasus



Category: Transformers (Marvel Generation One), Transformers Generation One
Genre: Friendship, Gen, War
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2013-12-26
Updated: 2013-12-26
Packaged: 2018-01-06 05:28:15
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 2
Words: 2,684
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/1102954
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Uniasus/pseuds/Uniasus
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>In war, everyone develops a shadow, one that follows you around and presses into your spark and leaves you lost in horror and grief. But it lifts, with help. If you have it.</p>
            </blockquote>





	1. Chapter 1

The twins and minibots always tell him to be quite, that all his chatter is annoying and that it hurts their audios. But every so often he catches one of them alone in the rec room late at night, nursing a lukewarm cube of energon and staring at the scratches in the tabletop. Bluestreak always joins them then, grabs his own cube to drink and starts talking. 

Sometimes for breems, sometimes for joors, but he’s never told to shut up in these dark hours of the night. Instead, as the mech stands up to leave, they reward him with a smile. It’s always the same smile; soft, dark, barely there, and oh so filled with sadness. It’s as close as he gets as a thank-you for something he doesn’t understand. 

They’re all like that, not just the twins and minibots. Wheeljack, Mirage, Hound, Kup, Trailbreaker, Tracks, First Aid, Chromia, Powerglide, Blaster, Skydive, Windcharger, Moonracer, all of them. Even the officers. They all go to the rec room once in a while for that drink in a room of half powered lights. It surprises him how there is only ever one mech in the room at a time, how they never run into any one else but himself. But he never mentions that. Sometimes, he even gets a quite thank you, via whispered words or muted comm line. 

It doesn’t always end there, with Bluestreak sitting at the table alone while the other Autobot walks away. Sometimes, due to some unspoken cue the other mech gives that he just knows what it means, he follows. He talks as they walk back to the other mech’s quarters, and sometimes he follows inside. It’s not uncommon for him to talk until recharge hits him, waking in an odd position on the floor or with his head on the shoulder of the mech from the rec room, propping each other up on the berth. 

Sometimes his mouth does things other than talk. He never starts it, but eagerly continues, bringing his hands into play. 

He’s been in closer quarters with so many Bots so often, talking or doing other things, that if thrown into a dark room where he was the only one online, he could identify them all and arrange them by rank. He spends so much time mixing with other EM fields, he sometimes forgets what his own untouched one feels like. Ratchet most likely has it on record. And it’s not like if something happened there aren’t other ways to identify him. 

It’s Prime he meets in the rec room the most often, follows most often, and wakes up next to most often, though he is ever loyal to Elita-One. He’s always the most vocal of thankers. 

Tonight they are in his quarters again, and like usual Bluestreak tells him to tell him to stop if he gets annoying. At night, no one takes him up on the offer, but it’s good to ask. And like usual, Prime smiles softly and says no, his talking isn’t annoying. And Bluestreak stops, wondering, and asks a question he’s be wondering about for ages, because if anyone would answer it, give an answer he likes, the answer he’s looking for, it’s Prime. Why isn’t his talking annoying?

“Because Bluestreak,” he answers, “When the darkness comes, it comes with a weight so heavy I fear my spark will sink to the bottom of my laser core and not allow me to get up one day. It speaks of my mistakes, of things…I’d rather not remember. But you, you talk of so many bright things I can feel the darkness retreat and my spark become light. Because you make me remember happy things, moments I wish I could remember all the time.”

So he nods and says he gets it, because he does, because all the other mechs he meets at night feel the same. But he doesn’t say that, he moves on to other topics. Like his happy memories, the light moments he had the day before. Fills his mind with them until Prime falls asleep, leaning slightly over and crushing him between his bulk and the wall.

And still he talks, out loud until his vocalizer stutters like it sometimes does. 

Because the answer Prime gave him isn’t the one he wanted, needed. 

And because no one asks him questions. 

No one asks what he is doing in the rec room in the middle of the night, why he isn’t in his room. Why he talks so much. Why he gets the darkness. 

He is one of the lucky ones, one of the normal crew to have his own room though it is pitifully small. He doesn’t mind though, he never sleeps in it; he is always in someone else’s room. 

Because it is dark in there by himself, with the slanted walls pressing closer and closer until he has to leave for a larger room, for the presence of others even if it is just echoes of earlier day traffic. Finding an actual mech in the rec room is a bonus, a solid reaffirmation that he isn’t alone. Because he remembers when he was, his city dead and gray and so silent he would have welcomed the sound of artillery fire just so it would stop being so quite! But he had nothing but his voice, which he used to push away the dark weight of loneliness, of silence, of the guilt for convincing his creators to stay put and not retreat to Iacon. He talks because it helps him forget the bad memories. Certainly Ratchet didn’t think needing his vocalizer fixed every three orns is normal.

Is it wrong that he had secretly desired that the other Autobot’s talked about him, realized he was in the rec room every night, and knew something was wrong? He knows when something was bothering them, shouldn’t they see it too? Maybe set up a schedule so there was always a mech in the rec room who would keep him company if only for a little while? Why else would there be someone there every single night? 

Could they not see he needed support too?

Prime couldn’t, never even thought about it, so how could the others? He was someone always there to push away others’ shadows, had always assumed that they were trying to do the same. 

Bringing the issue to the table never crosses his mind, because shouldn’t friends be aware of each other’s hardships? And pointing it out to them…leads to thoughts he wants to push as away. 

Used echoes in the room, an empty haunting noise. 

He starts talking again, bringing his knees to his chest and sinking down onto Prime’s berth. The shadow chaser, who has to chase his own shadows away by himself. He’s not strong enough, so he curls into Prime’s side, sing-singing a Cybertronian nursery rhyme, drawing a weak strength from the sound of Prime's engines and systems beeps, pretending they echo louder then the word he refuses to acknowledge and that the room is filled with ten Primes, until sleep finally over takes his processor.


	2. Chapter 2

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Scrounge things Bluestreak is a spy and going to prove it.

Scrounge isn’t the most noticed of mechs, not many are aware of what he could do, or even what his name is. He blends into the walls, his amour is a similar color to that of the Ark, and while the invisibleness isn’t something he minds, there are times it grates on him. He even chose a bizarre alt form, a single circular mode that other civilizations call a wheel. But still, he isn’t seen. Isn’t worthy of being singled out. 

So he plans to change that, show that he is worthy of being an Autobot, and not a simple refugee picked up who decided to take the first option that opened up to him. So he uses his best skill, his ability to be overlooked, and pairs it with the equipment he has from his time as a newscaster. 

His fingers are detachable and using wires he is able to guide his fingertips around corners, into vents, cover multiple angles, all unnoticed to the mechs around him. Inside his fingers are audio and visual receptors, tools he uses to collect files of his fellow Autobots. Who better than an unnoticed mech to identify a spy among the ranks?

Unfortunately he hasn’t found anything yet. 

It’s not like Scrounge wants to turn in someone he knows, learn that he is rubbing shoulders with a Decepticon. But if he could do it, prove himself worthy of his spot on the Ark, it would be worth it. 

He takes to hanging in corners of places he thought spies might meet, keeping down and hiding in shadows, wired fingers spread out and receptors turned on. Every night, he sits in the rec room and processes the data he collected, deleting most of it because he never finds anything. 

It doesn’t mean he doesn’t have a suspect. 

Scrounge has a reason to be in the rec room after most mechs have gone to bed every night. Bluestreak…doesn’t. 

Blue is there every single night. He isn’t always alone, some other mech or femme usually joins him, but the conversations they have were innocent, if boring. Blue just talks and talks, and if it is some type of complex code it is impossible for Scrounge to figure out. And it is very unlikely everyone on the ship is a spy Blue is in contact with. The gunner never seems surprised to see Bots join him at a table, but Scrounge gathers he never knows who is going to show up either. 

All those mechs coming to see him is a good cover, giving Bluestreak a legitimate excuse to be in the rec room that late at night. The question is, what is the mech doing by himself that late?

Scrounge follows Bluestreak for a full ten orns, trying to figure out what exactly Blue is doing and to gather evidence for Prowl. Or Jazz. He isn’t too sure who’s jurisdiction Decepticon spies are. Prime’s certainly, so maybe he’d go straight to the top. Yeah, that’s a good idea. But ten orns of files in his processor equals ten orns of files he deletes. There isn’t one thing to show Bluestreak is secretly a spy.

So if being invisible doesn’t work, being up front is going to have to.

He waits until Bluestreak is in the rec room long enough to get comfortable before he pounces. He steps out of the shadows and sets himself down next to the gunner. 

Bluestreak jumps. “Who are you?”

“Scrounge.”

“Are you new? Just cuz I haven’t seen you around and I thought I knew every one on the ship. When did you board, have you learned your way around yet? The Ark can be hard to navigate sometimes.”

“I know your secret.” Scrounge blurts out, pressing forward and pushing his face towards the grey mech’s. Intimidation. It works for Sunstreaker, why shouldn’t it work for him too?

Bluestreak does not lean backwards like Scrounge expects, he just adjusts the aperture of his optics in confusion. “Secret?”

“Yes, why you come here every night.”

“Really?”

The spy isn’t supposed to look so…happy about being found out. He should be denying that fact he is doing anything. So Bluestreak is a smart spy. Scrounge pushes forward even more, to the point where their chest protrusions clank together. 

“You’re a spy.”

Ah, there is that mix of horror and its-not-me-I’m-innocent face Scrounge had been looking for. 

“That’s crazy! I’m not a spy! I don’t even know how to be one! I can’t disappear like Mirage. Or move all sneaky like, like Jazz does. I stick out so much! If anything, you’re a spy! Sneaking up on me like you did! Actually that was pretty interesting. Think you can teach me? Unless of course it’s a spy thing you can’t share with me, that’s understandable. There are some things you just can’t learn. Just like there’s no way I can ever be as smart as Prowl. But that’s okay, I don’t have to be really smart to do my job here with the Autobots. What is it you do exactly? I don’t even recognize you. You must be really, really new. How about we go on a tour?”

Bluestreak makes to stand up, but Scrounge’s hand on his pinning it to the tabletop stops the grey mech half way. 

“Fine, you’re not a spy. So then why are you here every single night?”

Further indication that Blue is either a super amazing spy with acting skills, or he is so far off the mark he’d never show that he is worthy of being an Autobot. Bluestreak is…happy at the question. As if he has been waiting for it to be asked for vorns and finally gets his wish. The gunner seems to glow with pleasure for a moment, before it slowly slips away to form something darker. And when he speaks, he doesn’t ramble in the way Scrounge had come to associate with Bluestreak. But the words have more force, as if they have just burst free of rusted constraints and are glorifying in their freedom. 

“Because the rec room is usually so lively, so loud, that even the memories of it chase away the silence.”

“Is that why you talk so much too? Cuz you like noise?”

Blue nods. “But music doesn’t help, I’ve tried. Only talking. And since I don’t have a roommate, I come here to remember talking.”

“And then usually someone comes along you can talk to.”

Blue nods for a second time. “It helps. A lot. It chases the darkness.”

“Darkness?”

The gunner gives him look that is a mixture of surprise and then suppressed sadness. “Of the past. What happened to those I care about. Most of us here have it. We pick it up before we sign up to be an Autobot, or from what we see during the war.”

“Like Praxus falling.” Scrounge takes a guess, pulling up the spy file he has compiled on Bluestreak. 

Blue shutters his eyes and nods. “Don’t you have it too?”

The orange mech takes a rifle through his own memory files, but can’t find anything that could be categorized as darkness. He doesn’t hate the war, it is the best thing that could have happened to his career! The ones he lost, he wasn’t close with. Being invisible isn’t something he developed once he was on the Ark, he had it in some form or another before. The only thing that could come close might be a sense of lost, of what to do once the broadcast network collapsed. But the Autobots had come in and filled that hole in a matter of orns. 

“No.”

“Oh.”

The next five breems are the longest Scrounge has ever heard Bluestreak keep quite. 

“I thought you wanted to talk.”

“Oh, I do!”

“Then talk.” Scrounge waggles his left hand. “I’ll record whatever we, or you, talk about tonight, and then I’ll send you the file. You can listen to it whenever, give that vocalizer of yours a rest.”

The hug that envelops him is completely unexpected. Awkwardly, he bends his elbow and pats what he could of Bluestreak’s arm. 

“Thank you thank you so much! I’ve never been able to get a good recording, and I don’t have the capacity to record more than half a breem, so if you would do that, that would be amazing.”

Blue continues talking, Scrounge says things once in awhile, and they pass the night away. They spend the night in Blue’s room; Scrounge has no desire to go back to his, Cosmos snores. And come morning Scrounge uploads the file of the joors of conversation to the terminal in Bluestreak’s room.

“Thanks for doing that for me Scrounge,” Blue says, systems only half online as he wakes up for his shift. “You’re a good friend.”

And somehow, Scrounge loses all desire to prove himself worthy of being an Autobot. Being a friend sounds a lot better.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Scrounge is a real character in the comics. He just...doesn't live very long I don't think (haven't read a lot in the comics yet). I don't actually know if he's a newscaster.


End file.
